Endorse and Deem
by CookieCollabs
Summary: Matthew had always wished that Arthur would acknowledge him. His existence. His being. Arthur didn't know that Matthew wanted this, and Matthew really wishes that he did. What will he do to gain his attention? UKCan with slight FACE family


**Title:** Endorse and Deem  
><strong>Author:<strong> **krissykunn**  
><strong>Rating:<strong> K+  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> father-son UKCan, minor FACE family  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> mild language  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> none  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I, Alfie, do not own Axis Powers Hetalia.  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Matthew had always wished that Arthur would acknowledge him. His existence. His being. Arthur didn't know that Matthew wanted this, and Matthew really wishes that he did. What will he do to gain his attention? UKCan with slight FACE family**  
>AN:** _Yes, I ship England/Canada. I've always wanted to write something with them. The title was originally going to be "Acknowledge Me!" but then I gave up on that and changed it. Oh, and this is not country-verse, if you were thinking that. This is more of a human-verse, with family and friends and such. Matthew is about fifteen or so in this._

"Hey, Arthur!"

He watched… And watched… And watched. He waited… And waited… And waited. But no response came to his end. Matthew's brows furrowed, and he watched Arthur continue his paperwork. He had tried eight times—with ten minutes in-between each call of Arthur's name—to get the Briton's attention, zero out of eight times working. It bugged him—it really, _really _bugged him—but he didn't snap or rant or do anything drastic to try and get Arthur's attention. No, no, no…

Not yet.

Matthew took another step towards Arthur's desk, worrying his lower lip. Another scar to add to his already-busted-and-healing lip. He looked at his watch, watching the minute's hand. _Eight minutes… _He could wait. He was Matthew Williams. And Matthew Williams can wait.

Time went by, and then he cleared his throat, another few inches closer to Arthur's so-far-away desk. _Fifteen… fourteen… thirteen… twelve… _He looked back up at Arthur, watching him sign one of his documents. _Four… three… two…_

"Arthur!"

Now he waited. Matthew Williams waited. And that is what he did.

But Arthur didn't respond.

The Canadian watched him, both curiously and irritably. It had been nine times that he had tried, and zero of nine times got Arthur's attention. Great… Matthew sighed, and Arthur looked up, as if startled by a sound around him. Matthew immediately perked up. He had gotten his attention!

"…bloody cats," Arthur muttered, going back to his work after looking around for a few minutes. "Alfred should really keep them locked up if they're going to make such ruckus."

He thought it was one of their cats. Matthew scowled, his cheeks puffing out and pinking ever-the-slightest. How was that like a cat? "…Arthur," he tried again, even though it hadn't been ten minutes yet—only six. "Hey, Arthur…"

But he didn't get a reply. Arthur only continued to do his work, and Matthew's eyes watered. This was seriously getting out of hand. It was upsetting him, and he was on the verge of crying. "Arthur!" He grabbed for Arthur's arm, stopping him from going to his next document and startling the other blonde.

The Briton looked up in shock. "Wha—" Oh, it's about time! Matthew was ecstatic, but he was also so pissed at Arthur for taking so long that he couldn't help but glare at him in disgust. "Alfred, what do you want?"

What.

Matthew's teeth gritted together, and the tears threatened to spill again. His blood boiled, and he could taste iron on his tongue. "I'm not Alfred!" he cried, a couple tears falling down his cheeks and dripping onto his shirt. "My name is Matthew Williams! Get it right!"

There was a terribly long pause, and Arthur's thick eyebrows knitted together in what was either confusion or deep thinking. "Matthew, are you alright?" he asked, reaching out to wipe the tears from Matthew's face.

"No, I'm not!" he growled, pulling away without another thought. He flinched away from Arthur's hand in distaste. "I give up!" Matthew let out another sob and ran a hand through his hair, feeling himself shake. "I've tried to get you to notice that I'm around and the only time you ever do is when I'm upset or around papa! You always mistake me with Al, and it really makes me hate you!"

The Briton watched him ramble, unsure of how to respond to what he was saying. "Um… M-Matthew…" He reached out for Matthew, managing to grip the Canadian's wrist. "You should have just said something if it bothered you so much," he mumbled.

This little…! "I did! I am always telling you how I feel about the way you treat me! Oh, and guess what? _You never say a damn thing!" _Matthew continued to cry, trying to pull away and failing terribly. "It pisses me off! Why can't you just—"

"Matthieu!"

Matthew winced. "I was too loud." He pulled his hand away from Arthur's grip, turning to the door. Francis stood at the door, looking over at Matthew in concern. "Papa…" His eyes watered again, and he stumbled over to Francis' waiting, open arms.

Francis smoothed his fingers through Matthew's curls, soothingly, and then looked up at Arthur, his gaze a bit cold. "What happened while I was gone?" he asked, frowning.

The Briton shrugged, standing up and giving Francis a glare of his own. "He came in and started yelling at me! I don't have a clue of what his bloody problem is!"

The youngest of the three in the room wanted to retort, but Matthew decided on not doing so. Francis shushed him and tenderly kissed his forehead, murmuring 'it'll be alright'. "He was yelling at you? But, mon cher, Matthieu would never yell!"

"But he did! He yelled at me!" Arthur snapped. "This whole thing is ridiculous! I don't know what I've done wrong while raising him, Francis! The poor boy is cracked now!"

"He's not cracked," Francis replied, pouting. "He just has a lot of pent up emotions. He's in his teens now, so you must understand him when he retorts every once in awhile. It's just a part of growing up, non?"

"Do not go and blame it on puberty, Francis! He's still a child!"

"No, I'm not!" Matthew cried, defending himself.

"Shh, Mattieu," Francis hushed him, running another hand through the Canadian's curls. "Why don't we go get you some pancakes to calm you down, okay?"

Matthew nodded, looking at Arthur and then following Francis off to the kitchen, leaving a displeased Arthur in the Briton's office. He bit down on his lower lip, looking up at Francis and smiling when the Frenchman looked down at him with a kind smile on his face.

**A/N: **_Pfft, how do you end fanfiction late at night. I might go back and edit this later because yikes I am tired. I had plans to write two or three other pieces of fiction, but then I started watching British comedy and then everything else went downhill._


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